We Were All Children Once
by JennaBennett
Summary: Maddox might be employed to kill, but he's not a monster, he only kills those whose death he can justify. Granted, he's yet to be hired to kill someone who he hasn't deemed worthy of death.
1. Chapter 1

_We Were All Children Once _

_Chapter One_

"_I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die?"_

_Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice (III.i.__49__–__61__)._

Cole Maddox is not a remorseful man. He doesn't lead a life shaped by regret and empty promises. Coincidently, he elects to ignore the memories of his childhood. Suppression isn't ignorance, it's wisdom. He knows his strengths and makes it his mission to know his enemies weaknesses.

Detective Kate Beckett is weak, in the worst way possible – a way Maddox has never been able to understand. She lets the past have its wicked way with her. It's a weakness which drives her to give up on the future. Maddox can comprehend physical weakness – clearly it's not something that he himself has to deal with, but it makes sense. Emotional weakness he can tolerate, people are a mess, humanity is a mess, there's proof of that all around. But this deep seeded sense of vengeance? It's revenge on the highest scale. He makes it a priority to truly _know_ his enemies and he knows that Beckett's weakness is holding her back from living her life. The woman has no sense of carpe diem. There is no seizing of anything in dredging up the past day after day. It makes his job a lot easier, there's no remorse in killing someone who isn't truly _living_.

He justified his lack of remorse over killing Smith in a similar manner, the man was living in fear, it shrouded him, kept him hidden from life, wrapped up in fake identities and cryptic messages. If Maddox is certain of anything it's that a life half lived isn't worth living at all. The blood split at his hands is guilt free. It is his duty to purge the world from mediocrity. He knows his employer's have other intentions but _he_ has a deeper purpose. A true sense of right and wrong. It's the only thing he's carried with him from his forgotten childhood. Well, that and the knowledge that childhood, in essence, is an illusion. There is no such thing as a happy family – an innocent child. Child are violated by the world the moment they are born. There's no purity, no innocence in a place such as this. No one grows up happy.

Maddox might be employed to kill, but he's not a monster, he only kills those who he can justify. Granted, he's yet to be hired to kill someone who he hasn't deemed worthy of death. He knows that he is the best in his field, the best money can buy. His loyalty is bought. He trusts no one but himself, when it comes down to it, he knows no one but himself. The logic is undeniable.

All these factors affect the situation he's currently in. The facts are before him, Beckett deserves to die on the justification that she isn't truly living. He owes no real loyalty to his employer, the choice to kill is always his. So what does he choose? When it appears, against all odds, that Beckett has overcome the limitations of her weakness? He tracked her down after killing Smith. He was largely unsurprised to find her at the writer's loft. He was, however, surprised to encounter the scene before him now. Beckett, wrapped up the writer's arms, the pair tangled in his bed sheets. He freezes at the threshold of the room, debates everything he believes, his notion of right and wrong. Both are sleeping, neither are aware of his presence. He loses track of time, watching them sleeping soundly. Even in sleep he's never seen Beckett look so alive.

**AN: Honestly, not entirely sure where I'm headed with this. Just wanted to try it from a different perspective. Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

"_Everything broken can be replaced except for a child whose spirit breaks"_

_Etching by Derek Webb & Sandra McCracken_

_Even in sleep he's never seen Beckett look so alive._

Time gets away from him watching them slumbering. He's conflicted. Caught at a crossroads. His moral compass spinning wildly in all directions. So, he waits, poised at the threshold, desperately searching his mind for his centre, his true north. . . direction. He's always been indecisive, but in a good way, measured. He contemplates choices deeply before making a decision. Prides himself on his good judgement. He is a man devoid of weakness, indecision is a strength, it aids him in making the _right_ decision. Rushed, spur of the moment, spontaneity will get you nowhere.

Beckett stirs, he's not sure how long he's been in the doorway mulling over his options. A glance to the window reassures him that it's still late – or early, perspective is a funny thing. They should sleep longer still, time is on his side. She moans in her sleep, thrashes a little. He steps back slightly, well-hidden by the darkness surrounding him. The shadows his constant companions in this line of work. He knows how to be discreet, how to slip through a crowd of people without being noticed, how to watch others without ever being watched himself. Her nightmare has roused the writer. He strokes her arm, the touch tentative but lingering. Adoration in his every movement.

"Kate, love, it's just a nightmare. You're okay," his words are tender, reassuring. She startles awake at the combination – his touch, his words, the very force of his love driving her to consciousness. Her eyes are unfocussed at first, she looks like she's about to vault from the bed, her sleepy mind struggling to deal with the unfamiliarity of her situation. She steadies herself, remembering, her gaze catching his and she is glowing. It's almost literal. The mix of the dull, dimly lit room combined with the shine in her eyes, it's breathtaking, Maddox isn't blind to the beauty of the moment.

"Castle," she breathes, twisting in his arms to press a gentle kiss to his chest, raising herself up so that they lay face to face on the pillow, breath swirling and mixing in the space between them.

"Are you okay?" he queries gently, an undercurrent of fear to his tone.

"More than okay, I'm with you," she murmurs, already drifting back to sleep, her body cocooned in his. Her words have the opposite effect on him, he's suddenly much more alert, his lips hungrily and reverently on hers. "Mmm, I love you. So much," she adds as his lips move from hers. He stills. The impact of her words evident. His eyes glisten, he looks close to tears. When he speaks, his voice is gruff, the emotion evidently close to overwhelming.

"Kate, I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. You mean everything to me," the sincerity behind his words rings true. She sleepily mumbles a response –

"Kiss me, Castle," and runs her hand along his jaw, tugging him closer. He accedes, without complaint or argument. His body obviously wants another round, but she is clearly exhausted. He kisses her soundly once again and hugs her tighter to him, allowing sleep to wash over them once again.

Maddox has stilled unconsciously, the pair before him have lost his attention. The writer's words run over and over in his mind. They whirl and churn and do the unthinkable – they dredge up memories from his forgotten childhood. The vault of his mind clearly cracked by words that eerily mirror ones spoken a past ago, words uttered in vastly different circumstances. Words that were better left forgotten…

_The man Maddox calls his father waves the knife haphazardly again, narrowly missing the boy's face. The blade casts a glow, flickering and bouncing around the squalid room. It's almost beautiful in its own twisted way. Contrasted with the room itself and the events unfolding within it, the blade certainly holds the place of beauty. The slurred speech is continuing, Maddox regretfully drags his nine year old eyes away from the blade and wills himself to focus on the seemingly endless tirade – _

"_A common whore for a mother, boy, that's what you've got. Hell, I don't even know if I'm your father. I doubt it. But 'ere we are anyway and you know what, I'll teach ya' how to be a man 'cause I'm the only daddy you got." Maddox has heard the speech before, he's even seen the knife featured. His mother tied up whimpering in the corner, her dress torn, is relatively new though. Usually she cowers in front of him, ushers him from the room before swiftly locking the door, her screams muffled by the thick wood. It's the first time he's used the rope to restrain her. It's also the last. But young Maddox doesn't know that yet._

"_Send the boy out," his mother pleads between sobs. "He doesn't need to see this."_

"_Oh no, I'm learnin' him how to be a man. He needs to see this," his father replies archly, brandishing the knife with flourish as if it adds momentum to his words. His mother subsides into a begging mess of tears. It is allowed for a moment, but eventually father's annoyance is clear. "Enough," he thunders. He trails the blade on the exposed skin of her quivering throat, adds pressure, just the right amount for a dark red line to form. As the blood spills over from her neck, pooling at her breasts, he moves to her arms. "One scar for each time you've cheated on me," he grins brashly. _

"_Please, please. I haven't," she chokes out, her skin pale and clammy apart from where the seeping blood is staining it forever red. "I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. You mean everything to me," she adds. His father freezes. _

"_Lies!" he hisses. "You love the boy more than you love me." He pauses, a plan forming, "I can fix that," it's just a muttering before Maddox' side stings and his little hands come away red. His mother moans low and guttural and he slips to the floor, feigning death as he listens to his mother bleed out and die above him. He waits until his father has finished and fallen into a drunken stupor before pulling himself from the grimy floor and stitching his wound best he can with his mother's weathered sewing kit. _

Yes, Maddox knows that a life half lived is not a life at all.

**AN: I am aware that this a tad dark. I'd just like to clarify that I am neither a serial killer, nor is this in any way a depiction of my childhood. I like knowing the story behind things; I think it takes something pretty devastating in someone's life for them to have an inclination towards professional hit man as a career is all… **

**As always, let me know what you think! **


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

"_One night can change everything in your life,  
One night can make everything alright.  
One night can turn all your colors to white,  
One night - it's easier said than done.  
Turning and turning but never returning,  
To what you once had"_

_~ One Night by Travis_

_Yes, Maddox knows that a life half lived is not a life at all. _

Maddox counts his mother's untimely death as a lesson well learnt. She didn't deserve to live anyway. Neither did his father. Maddox remembers his first kill with careful disconnected precision. His father's snivelling cries of agony as the bullet pierced his flesh and he crumpled to the ground. It wasn't revenge. If anything, it was the ultimate compliment that his harsh lessons to his son had been received. In his father's final moments, Maddox knew that he had been called with a higher purpose, to weed those who weren't truly living from the world. To play his small part in making it a better place. Future generations would thank him for his endeavours. The present generation was confused, living a lie, one foot in the door and one foot out – no way to live.

He shifts his weight slightly and the floorboard beneath him creaks. Dammit. He's carelessly lost in thought. This job is affecting him more than usual. It's playing a complicated game of cat and mouse with his mind. He can't quite seem to come to a decision. Too distracted by memories of the process that made him a man, marked him out for greatness. But, he needs to focus. Make that measured decision that he knows is resting just below the surface. He gives his full attention back to Beckett and her writer. She's still locked tightly in his grip – a vice, or maybe something softer, a refuge? The only movement their steady breathing. He pictures how it will go down. He'll muffle his weapon, a soft pop will sound and her body will jerk, her eyes flick open in shock and pain and then the life in them will dim. The writer will wake slowly, not expecting the scene before him, his lover bleeding and dying before his eyes – yet _again_. He'll react one of two ways – he'll scream and plead with her to stay with him; or he'll realise the imminent danger, eyes angrily scanning the shadows and he'll lunge, rage his only thought. Maddox could shoot him too. He hasn't analysed him enough though, he doesn't know what kind of life the man leads. He'd need a moment to process, to decide. It's one of the reasons he didn't directly kill Beckett on the roof the day before. He was undecided then, and he's even more conflicted now. It seems she's finally learnt to let go of the past. One of the more important lessons in life in Maddox's less than humble opinion.

"I just want _you_," she's dreaming again. Mumbling sweet nothings into her writer's arms. The whispers bubbling over with untold joy. Maddox decides. Now that she's learnt to _live_, Beckett gets the opportunity to. He'll give her that, at least for now – for tonight. He casts one last glance around the room and hopes she will appreciate the gift of life that he's given her. Whether she knows it or not, Beckett is now in his debt.

He's bored of this pursuit. He needs a new hit, someone who isn't Kate Beckett.

He doesn't want to admit that it's too confronting. Too much. Bored is a much easier sentiment. He supposes he ought to let his employer know. The man will probably hire someone less capable. Someone less moral. Oh well, it's not his problem. He's given Beckett this gift for tonight at least. He's done his good deed. It no longer concerns him.

He sends a quick message to his employer. He'll meet with him in the morning. Explain the morality. He'll understand. Simple as that. Maddox departs the writer's residence sure of one thing, his days of dealing with Detective Beckett are over.

**AN: Insanely short chapter, I know. On the bright side, I've got a much clearer idea about where this story is headed now. There will be at least another couple of chapters. Awake Castle and Beckett will also feature. I'm pretty excited. **

**Please review, it'll brighten my day (which is essential given it's been dreary, raining and overcast here for the past week). **


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_  
_"battling is bound to leave blood on the ground  
this war is a choir and this choir has a sound"_

_~ Our War by Lovedrug_

_Maddox departs the writer's residence sure of one thing, his days of dealing with Detective Beckett are over._

Beckett wakes later than usual. Pinpricks of heat flare on her skin as Castle's fingers stumble over her body. It rouses her more than any alarm.

"Morning," she smiles. He grunts somewhat incoherently in response, it rumbles through her. She presses herself further into him, stretching her limbs as she does, revelling in the new day. The sun is shining. Finally.

They stay intertwined, drifting in and out of consciousness. There's nowhere else to be, no reason to untangle their mingled bodies. The shrill ringing of her phone jolts her fully awake. She lunges for it, forgetting for a moment that there are no bodies anymore, she's free to just _be_. That's what resigning is all about.

"Beckett," she yawns into the phone, there's no need for a mask of alertness. She doesn't have to move from this bed.

"Listen sweetie, Javi told me what happened. But, I'm at a scene, there's a body. I think you're going to want to take a look," Lanie's tone is hesitant, soft, like she's afraid Beckett will explode. She doesn't. Quite the opposite. She feels an overwhelming sense of relief.

"Can't, quit," she manages. Castle has started kissing a line along her bare shoulder blades, it's a tad distracting. She's having trouble keeping herself in the conversation.

"Kate," it's a gentle supplication, almost a plea. She pulls her focus back to her best friend. Lanie seems to sense that she's listening and continues, "We need you to ID the body. You're going to want to be here for this anyway. Ryan's not certain. We haven't called it in to Gates yet. We need you. Please."

"My Dad…" she chokes out, her body becoming stiff and rigid under Castle's gentle touch.

"Oh god no," Lanie exclaims hurriedly. "No, no, nothing like that. I'll text you the address. Just come, okay?"

"Mmm," Beckett concedes. Lanie pauses for a moment, unsure if she should really push –

"And, Kate, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good Lanie. I'll see you soon," she sighs, it's a sound of resignation. She's been out of the force less than a day and they're already pulling her back in. She'll just see whatever it is and figure it out from there. One foot in front of the other and all that jazz. Besides, it doesn't matter, just as long as Castle's there to hold her hand every step of the way.

Her phone rings again, she stifles an eye roll, seriously? Can't she just have a few hours to bask in the afterglow of this particularly delightful morning after? Except when she draws her phone to her face to answer it, it's not ringing. She finds Castle's pants on the floor, pulls his phone from the pocket. She glances at the caller ID before flinging it to Castle, smirks a little at the face glowing up at her from the screen. Boy, their friends love to meddle.

"Lanie?" Castle answers, part question, part statement. "What's up?" He flicks the phone to speaker, pats the bed and Beckett makes her way back into the circle of his arms.

"Castle," she starts and Beckett is surprised by the brevity of her tone. She wasn't exactly happy-go-lucky on the phone a moment ago but now she sounds downright petrified. "There's a body. Beckett's probably going to take it . . . oh hell, who knows how that woman will take anything. But it could be bad. I don't know what's going on with the two of you at the moment. All I know is that if you still care about her, your arse will be at the scene ASAP. Got it writer boy?"

"I got it," he replies seriously. "Oh, and Lanie, it's writer _man_," the twinkle is back in his eye.

"Mmmhmm," she responds, Beckett can practically see the quirk of her friend's brow at Castle's words, her tone is lighter though. Castle's charm is contagious. Right now, she's honestly not disappointed in the least that she skipped that particular immunisation.

**AN: Okay, I'm actually kind of going with the short chapter thing here. It kind of gives the story a disjointed quality that I'm rolling with. **

**Reviews are the sunshine in my cloudy day (too much?) **


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

"_Nothing movie-like_

_Nothing magic_

_People just tire to fight the constant battle"_

_~ Movielike by Jimmy Eat World_

_Castle's charm is contagious. Right now, she's honestly not disappointed in the least that she skipped that particular immunisation._

After the call, Beckett feels like she should be tense, but making coffee with Castle in his loft – jostling hips, lingering touches – the stress eases. She feels light, free. She really has let go. It's empowering. She just wants to throw Castle down and ignore the rest of the world. She can't though. She knows it. He knows it. So they make coffee, regretfully pull on clothes and drag their lips apart long enough to make it outside of the house.

Lanie awaits them at the crime scene, her gaze worried, her eyes trailing Beckett's every move. Beckett bites back a smirk. Figures she might as well make a show of it, really give Lanie something to talk about. She steps closer to Castle, brushes the tips of her fingers along his back. He fights back a shiver at her feather light touch. He glances at her, clearly intent on following her lead, worried about pushing some line – he doesn't want any sort of "one step forward, two step backwards" situation to occur. That wouldn't be conducive to his sanity in any way, shape or form.

This has got to be the greatest perk of leaving the precinct. She can be as flamboyant as she damn likes in her relationship with Castle. There's no risk of him being kicked off her team. There's no legitimate disapproval from Gates. Relationship with Castle. She likes the sound of that rolling round in her brain. She moves her hand from his back, slides it down his arm to firmly clasp his hand in hers. She fixes her gaze fiercely on Lanie's – the woman's eyes practically pop from her head. She brings her hand determinedly to her mouth, attempts to mask the squeal falling from her lips – she falls short, all eyes on the block turning in her direction. She half-heartedly glares at everyone, hoping they'll get back to their work, they don't.

"Mmm, interesting," Beckett stage whispers to Castle with a smirk. "Let's see if we can _really_ get her attention." She pulls Castle in for a scorching kiss. God, she's glad she resigned. It's so much more fun this way. Technically she and Castle haven't had that particular little chat to define what exactly they are, but she doesn't need words for this. There have been enough _always_ shared between them for the intentions to be clear – at least after last night made it just that little more blatantly obvious. Castle, to his credit, doesn't gloat, just looks transfixed, stunned as she pulls away.

"So hot," falls from his lips and she brushes her thumb over his lips, smoothing away the traces of her lip gloss.

"So hot!" Lanie echoes with a breathtaking grin. "I am so happy for the two of you. About damn time," she crushes them with a hug. Beckett giggles, twirls her hair a little. It's mesmerising. Enchanting. Castle can't keep a steady train of thought. He focuses all his energy into the feel of her fingers pressing gently into the back of his hand. It's all he needs to feel anyway. "I hate to dull this moment, but…" Lanie gestures down the alley. Beckett sighs and steps towards the body splayed in the darkened corner.

It's a man. A man she recognises all too well. Her stomach sinks. She leans into Castle's side. He gazes at the body, strokes her arm absentmindedly, pulls her closer to him.

"Who is it?" he presses gently, eyes on Lanie, seeking an answer, unsure that Beckett will be able to form one. Lanie fixes her gaze on Beckett, Castle's eyes follow her. "Kate?"

"Maddox. Cole Maddox. My sniper," she spills softly, her free hand unconsciously reaching to rub the dark bruises colouring her neck.

"Oh god," he tightens his hold on her. Kisses the bruises gently, lips lingering on the darkened tissue. "Thank god," he amends after a moment.

"Yeah," she murmurs. "But the question is who? And why?"

In that moment, she knows that she hasn't really left the precinct. There's a murder to solve and she aches to be the one to solve it. She's like Castle in that way, more than she was ever really aware, she _needs_ to know the story. This man has been virtually untraceable and unstoppable and she needs to know why he ended up in this alley the day after kicking the crap out of her on a rooftop. There's too much of the story left untold.

**AN: Still rolling with this short chapter thing. I may update a little less over the next couple of days as well, sorry about that. My best friend is in town and quality time with her trumps just about everything. **

**Thanks so much to everyone who's reading and reviewing this, you guys are the best! **


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

"_It's too late for you to stop and think"_

_~ Static Waves by Andrew Belle_

_There's too much of the story left untold._

_**Three Hours Earlier**_

Maddox slips unnoticed unto the street below the writer's loft. He still has a little while before his meet with his employer so he takes slow, but purposeful strides down the street, enjoys the chilly, early morning air as he strolls. It's a blast of alertness, he revels in it, enjoying the moment in all its simplicity. He walks for a few blocks, noting little other than his immediate surroundings. He passes an open coffee shop, ducks inside for a moment, exiting with takeaway cup in hand. He drains the cup to the dregs and rips it open, tearing a small piece of card from the packaging. He scrawls something on it quickly, shoving it deep into his coat pocket. The remainder of the cup he deposits in a trash can as he passes. It seems a strange act, the kind of thing a stranger would note. But, despite the busyness of the city in general, he's on a largely deserted street – no one notices his actions, no one notices _him_. He's slipping under the radar once again. It's probably for the best that no one pays him any notice anyway. He can do without the judgemental glances that people give one another when something is slightly out of the ordinary, when something ventures towards the unexpected.

His instincts are right on as per usual, he pulls his phone from his pocket just as it shrills with the address for the meet. He glances at it, recognises the alley, away from prying eyes – it's a fairly typical rondevu point for his employer. He checks the time, hails a cab and gruffly gives an address a few blocks from the meet location. He still has time to walk a little of the way, it's never a good idea to let a random cab driver see too much anyway.

He saunters into the alley right on time, his employer awaits him, a twisted grin.

"Is it done?" the man drawls, a menacing stare etched permanently on his face, it does little to deter Maddox though. The man has no hold over him. He needs no one but himself in this life. Maddox shrugs noncommittally in response.

"Smith has been dealt with, as discussed. As for the remainder of the contract, I'm out. I have better things to do," he is aloof, there's no need to extend the discussion. The man before him frowns, shakes his head slowly back and forth a couple of times.

"You leave me with no choice but to terminate our professional relationship," he replies coolly, a disconnected air to his voice that mirrors Maddox's lack of interest. Before Maddox forms more of a response than a casual nod, the man has drawn a gun. Maddox's last thought as he slips into oblivion is that his employer needs to be taught a lesson – somewhat ironically, he's just the man to do it. Have to chalk that up to a missed opportunity. Shame. The blackness is consuming. The world is no more. Or, maybe it's just Maddox himself who is no more. The end is nigh. The end is _now_.

**AN: It's finally sunny! I'm definitely a little distracted from writing by the glorious sunshine (& the oh so excellent company). That said, I'll try my best to have the next chapter up soon. Please review! **


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

"_Take me as you find me, _

_all my fears and failures_

_Fill my life again" _

_~ Mighty to Save by Hillsong_

_The end is nigh. The end is now._

Ryan appears out of the blackness of the far reaches of the alley. He notes the additional presence of Beckett and pauses. His jerky stopping-and-starting motion would be almost comical to the impartial observer. Beckett, however, feels the hesitation keenly. This is one of her team, her boys and he looks absolutely petrified to approach her – like even the thought of it is paining him immensely. She offers him a tentative smile. Apparently it's all the reassurance he needs. He takes measured steps towards them, stopping just a little further from her than normal. But it's okay, she'll smile, kiss Castle again and the air will clear. Surely. She needs it to. He's the closest thing she has to a brother – and Esposito, of course. Family doesn't quit on each other. No matter what circumstances wedge themselves ungraciously between them. Not this family anyway. This family, _her_ family, they're one of the ones that makes it. Especially now. Ryan opens his mouth to speak, but Beckett can't stand the unspoken tension any longer, she needs to fix it, and now. She cuts him off before he can find words –

"Thank you. Thank you, Ryan. I owe you everything…" before she can continue, add more to the burning desire to make things right, to tell Ryan that she's proud of him and that he did exactly the right thing, Castle is butting in. He crushes Ryan in a fierce – admittedly, not very masculine – hug.

"We owe you everything. I…you, you are the a good man, Kevin. If there's anything at all I can do to thank you. A second honeymoon? A house? A car? A college fund for your first born child? _Anything_," for a man of words, he's certainly sounding like an incoherent, bumbling fool. Oh well, if the glossy look Beckett is giving him is any indication then maybe the message is getting across. Ryan, for his part, looks sufficiently stunned. He takes a moment, clears his throat. Beckett is honestly expecting him to brush it off, mention something about how he's just glad that she's okay. His actual words bring laughter bubbling to her throat –

"Are you two _finally_ together?" he's probably aiming for detached debonair, but in all honesty he just sounds awestruck. His gaze fixated on Castle's fingers casually wrapping around hers once again. Beckett's laughter overflows and just like that the tension is blissfully broken and rest of them find themselves falling into fits of giggles. After a moment, they subside into comfortable silence. Beckett answers Ryan, though her eyes are locked determinedly with Castle's.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're finally together."

"Worth the wait," Castle murmurs softly, kneading her hand in his. She dips her head, part agreement and partly to hide the blush slowly creeping over her cheeks at the intensity of Castle's gaze tangled in his words. Ryan can't stop grinning, alternating between gawking at them and swinging his gaze to meet Lanie's eyes, sharing in the momentous occasion. Beckett and Castle are still too caught up in each other to really notice, but Lanie rolls her eyes at Ryan's antics. He's set to pass out if he keeps swaying back and forth with that intensity.

"I hate to be the one to jolt y'all back to reality… murdered sniper and all that…" she hedges, but there's a lightness to her tone, like she doesn't really mind that the case is being rejected in favour of heated glances and hand-holding. She truly doesn't. But the sooner they deal with this, the sooner Castle and Beckett can deal with a little more of their pent up sexual tension. If there is one thing Lanie ain't, it's blind to the fact that Castle and Beckett perpetually look like they want to jump each other. Considering right now that's an actual eventuality, it's probably for the best if they wrap this up quickly.

"Right," Beckett sighs, reluctantly pulling her eyes from their not-so-casual perusal of Castle's chest. The case. She should probably get onto that… She starts to tug her fingers from Castle's but he tightens his grip momentarily, looking her square in the eyes.

"This is reality, Kate," he asserts – yet it's soft, a caress of sorts. She beams.

"I know," she affirms, running her fingers over his jaw briefly before moving to kneel over Maddox's body.

"God, you are sappy," Lanie chuckles. Castle fixes her with a mock glare.

"Don't let me taint your crime scene with romance, Doctor Parish," he winks. He receives a pouty eye roll in response. Mission accomplished.

**AN: The sun continues to shine and I still have a week with my best friend. I'm incapable of directing this story in an angst-like direction given my current mindset of utter joy. Oh well. Who knows where the next chapter will take us? (I certainly don't). Reviews are the icing on the cake that is my life… Thanks so much for reading! **


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

"_The good man died, the bad man thrives  
And Jesus cries because he loves em' both  
We're all cast-aways in need of ropes  
Hangin' on by the last threads of our hope"_

_~ Farther Along by Josh Garrels_

_He receives a pouty eye roll in response. Mission accomplished._

The assessment of the body is quick. Cause of death seems rather obvious what with the gaping gunshot wound and all. Beckett takes the disposable gloves offered to her by Lanie and runs her hands methodically over the body, turning out the pockets. Her fingers freeze over the scrunched up cardboard pressed deep into the bottom of Maddox's coat pocket, she pulls it tentatively from the corner. It's mixed with lint and sand. The regularity of the mix is startling somehow, it reminds Beckett that Maddox is – _was_ – human. He probably has loved ones, a family. He's someone's son. It's a frightening revelation. It's easier to see him as a monster as opposed to a victim. As much as she hates death, especially murder, there's the lingering thought in the back of her mind that whoever did this has probably done her a favour. It's a dangerous idea.

Castle nudges her gently, wordlessly prompting her to untangle the ball of card. It's stained and the unmistakable waft of coffee tells her with what. There are two words scrawled across it. A name. In nondescript block letters. Odd. But it's lead. She takes note of the name and hands the scrap of card to Lanie.

"Test it for prints," she requests, Lanie nods, silently reading the name as she takes it. Ryan leans over her shoulder and makes a note of it as well.

"Donald Baildon. Sounds a little familiar," he muses.

"On it," Castle interjects, pulling his phone from his pocket and googling the man's name. After several moments of his eyes flicking back and forth, taking in the information laid out before him, he releases a strangled breath.

"What?" Beckett urges, gravitating closer, scanning whatever it is that Castle's just read.

"Nothing exactly…" he admits hesitantly. "Just, he seems like the kind of powerful person who could be behind a conspiracy is all." He regrets the words the moment he speaks them. He doesn't want to give Beckett false hope. He doesn't want to drag Beckett back into her mother's murder once again. He can't handle it. That much is clear given his angry, passionate speech yesterday where he assured her that he was done with her once and for all. Of course that was before he'd come to the understanding that maybe she loved him back just a little bit – well a lot, given the past twenty-four hours. The past twenty-four hours, boy that was a distracting thought. He thought it was distracting all these years, wondering what it would be like, what _she _would be like. Now that he knew, infinitely more distracting. He was getting sidetracked. Beckett was gaping at him slightly, clearly she wanted him to continue his train of thought. It appeared this was one of those times she actually took his wild theories into careful consideration. He cleared his throat, shaking thoughts of naked Beckett from his head before pressing on. "He's a very successful business man, friends with a handful of elite politicians, also the Chief of Police… I don't know Beckett, it's just a name. We don't know what it means. Anyone could have planted it on Maddox. Chances are it's not someone who wants to help us out," he trails off, unsure of what he himself thinks. Friend or foe, it's a name, right? A lead. A solid lead. The first in a long time – apart from the reappearance of Maddox that is.

**AN:** **Sorry about the lack of update yesterday. I'll try have another one up later today, no guarantees though. Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewing, I really appreciate it! **


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

"_There's more to living than being alive."_

_~ Alexithymia by Anberlin. _

_A solid lead. The first in a long time – apart from the reappearance of Maddox that is._

Beckett runs her hands over her face in frustration.

"God, Castle. You're right, who knows what it means," she groans.

"I know one thing. It's not going to be easy," he nods his agreement.

"It never is," she states, her frown deepening.

"But I'm with you, Kate, every step of the way. It's _our _life at stake here," he offers her a weak smile, but the sentiment behind his words is clear – it's part apology for walking away from her yesterday and part promise that he will never walk away from her again.

As it turns out Beckett is wrong. Once they have a name things are easy. The conspiracy unravels. The case closed. Justice found. Just like that. It's monumental. As she cuffs Donald Baildon, the man behind her mother's murder, she feels the earth shift. She's tempted to propose to Castle right then and there. She doesn't though. There's a part of her that really doesn't want to take that away from him. She's so looking forward to the future. All that it will bring. For the first time since she was nineteen she's genuinely excited for all life has to offer. She wants all that it could be, marriage, children, Castle the centre of it all.

There's an aspect of the case that she forgets about, swept up in the rush of justice, of victory. It's not until Lanie calls with the results from the lab that brings it back into her consciousness at all. It's odd, she should be thinking about it, the note, the name, the needle in the haystack. It's what brought it all together, the name was the solution. The entire case rests on the name, she never would have got there without the crumpled piece of card in Maddox's pocket. She should have been dwelling on who planted it there. Clearly someone's a friend to her. She should know her allies. In all honesty, when she first found the body there was a thought of how in all likelihood the murderer was someone who cared about her – if Castle hadn't have been with her she would have assumed him responsible. No one else had more hatred for the man who tried and succeeded in putting a bullet in her. It wouldn't have surprised her to find Esposito harbouring the murder weapon either. Or Ryan. Or her father for that matter. Or Gates, given the woman's clear pleasure at having this case behind them – and Beckett back at the precinct. She didn't say so in as many words and Beckett was on the strictest probation imaginable. But she knew that if Gates wasn't at least a little fond of her then there was no way in hell she would have been allowed back in the precinct in the first place – let alone reinstated in her old job, with Castle still at her side. Gates definitely had a soft spot for the younger detective.

"Ka-aate Beckett," Lanie is crooning into the phone. Right, the phone, clearly Beckett spaced out in her thoughts just a little. "You better not be making out with your man instead of listening to me…"

"Lanie, sorry. Lost in thought," she hastily cuts in, a smile to her words.

"Mmmhmm," Lanie teases.

"You have something for me?" she hints, a reminder to get back on topic.

"Sure do. Thought you might like to know, the only prints on the note in Maddox's pocket are from Maddox himself," Lanie states, a serious edge coming back to her tone.

"Weird," Beckett muses.

"It get's weirder," Lanie continues. "I called the results up to Ryan and he did a little background into where our boy Maddox spent his last day on earth – apart from trying to strangle you. He sent a text from _Castle's loft_ at 3am!"

"Oh god," Beckett freezes. Feels the danger like it's imminent. Castle. He could have hurt Castle. _Killed_ Castle. He could have killed her. Why didn't he kill them? Why? He didn't kill them. He didn't kill them. The realisation that she somehow dodged another bullet is everything. Somehow, against all odds, she lives. No more waiting for the other shoe to drop. She's living her life. There's nothing to hold her back. She spies Castle across the precinct, phone still loosely in her grasp. She strides across the bullpen, takes his mouth in hers. "I love you, Castle. I love you," it tumbles from her mouth, again and again as she peppers his mouth, his face, with kisses. For his part, he quickly wipes the stunned expression from his face and responds to her, giving as good as he gets, holding her close to him.

"Seriously," Lanie mutters through the speaker. "What did I just say about making out with Castle while I'm on the phone?" Her words have no sting and she giggles, disconnecting the call, allowing the couple the semblance of privacy.

Just like that Maddox has succeeded. He's taught his employer a lesson from the grave. He's taught Beckett how to live. Warped worldview or not, he's certainly left his mark on the world.

It's not until years later when Beckett is glowing with the promise of her firstborn forming within her that she makes her way to Maddox's grave and deposits the first – and only – flowers the headstone has ever seen. Maddox may not be living, but Beckett certainly is and somehow, against all odds, she owes it to him.

**AN: That's all folks! Let me know what you think. **


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